


The Space Between

by little0bird



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan questions the war, Protective Satine Kryze, Questioning if Anakin is the Chosen One, Satine Calls Him Ben, Satine's Point of View, The Clone Wars - Freeform, The Jedi Need Therapists, Worries about Anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: He slides his arms around my waist, his movements tentative and awkward, like our first dance lessons when he and Qui-gon hid and guarded me from bounty hunters, and then pulls me close. I can smell the dust of an alien planet embedded in his clothes and hair, and the ozone of blaster fire from the singed spots on his undertunic. He'd just come from a battle. I didn't recall the name of the planet or moon in particular, but by this point they all blurred into one another. I did know it was a victory for the Republic and the general in my arms who led his troops into battle in violation of every principle with which he'd been raised. A victory… Could one call it so if the price it extracted was far more than its worth?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	The Space Between

The lightsaber gave him away.

Although, knowing Ben, it was a deliberate choice. He'd placed it on a small table, in an alcove, in a pool of amber light from the single candledroid that hovered over it where I was sure to notice it. He likely knew the moment I'd stepped into the apartment. He always knew. I turned back to the door and swiftly keyed in my lock code. The one only I could unlock with a retina scan. A security measure, to be sure, but also an invaluable resource to have when I wanted a rare moment of absolute privacy.

I make my way through the apartment, my shoes tapping on the floor. I really ought to be annoyed at his unannounced visit, but instead, I wrack my brain to come up with a reason why the Jedi have sent him here. Mandalore is stable… Well, stable enough for the time being to not require the services of a Jedi, let alone one like Obi-wan Kenobi. My bedroom is dark, illuminated only by the lights of the city. He stands in front of the bank of windows, barefoot, dressed only in his usual tan trousers and the ivory-hued undertunic. His overtunic, tabard, belt, and that voluminous brown robe that all but screamed "Jedi" were neatly folded and resting on a wooden stool, with his boots next to it. He stares out of the windows, rubbing his fingertips over his chin, a gesture I'd seen him do countless times during the year we’d been on the run. Korkie did it, too. It had given me quite a turn to see him do it for the first time as a five year old child, while pondering which shade of yellow to use to color the hair in the drawing he'd made of me. Both Ben and Korkie adopted a thoughtful, even pensive expression when they performed that little gesture, but the look on Ben's face frightens me. It isn't his usual wry amusement or Jedi stoicism. It's as though nothing within a thousand meter radius registers at all. His usually mobile face is blank…. expressionless. 'Ben?' I say in a low voice, so as not to startle him, even though, like I said, he knows I’m here.

He turns away from the windows. 'Satine…'

'How did you get in here?' It's a valid question. A Jedi starfighter and its hyperdrive ring would have certainly triggered an alert with the Protectors. The guards at the door of the apartment didn't mention him. Although it's possible he used that mind trick on them. He's done it before in the name of discretion. And Ben is nothing if not discreet.

'Erm…' He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. 'I, uh, borrowed a T-6 shuttle from Bail Organa. With a helpfully malfunctioning transponder and anonymous registration.'

'Ah. Did the good Senator happen to know your destination?'

'I did tell him I was going to check in with old friend, and it would be best to arrive in something inconspicuous. He was good enough to not press for further details.'

'And my apartment?'

'I used the servants' corridors.' Of course he did. He spent most of his days between my homecoming and his departure prowling around the palace, committing its passages to memory.

I stand in front of him and tilt his face toward the light from the windows. He looks tired. No… Not tired. Exhausted. Completely worn out and burdened by something he cannot put into words. Not yet. I trace the new lines etched around his eyes and the deeper one between his brows. 'How long will you stay?'

'Just until morning. I'll be on my way to Coruscant before anyone realizes I've been here at all.' He tries to sound jaunty, but fails.

'I see.' I actually don't. I'll admit to more than a little bemusement by his presence in my apartment. He hasn't come back to Mandalore since that awful incident when the Death Watch tried to assassinate me. We've spoken to one another a few times via hologram, usually when Ben's suffering through one of his bouts of insomnia. More often than not, it's been written messages, transmitted on a coded frequency. Sometimes, it's good to be a duchess. He writes his messages in Mando'a. Or more accurately, _Ben_ writes in Mando'a. Obi-wan in Basic. Our communiques are quite anodyne. If you don't read between the lines. And we _never_ talk about the war.

He slides his arms around my waist, his movements tentative and awkward, like our first dance lessons when he and Qui-gon hid and guarded me from bounty hunters, and then pulls me close. I can smell the dust of an alien planet embedded in his clothes and hair, and the ozone of blaster fire from the singed spots on his undertunic. He'd just come from a battle. I didn't recall the name of the planet or moon in particular, but by this point they all blurred into one another. I did know it was a victory for the Republic and the general in my arms who led his troops into battle in violation of every principle with which he'd been raised. A victory… Could one call it so if the price it extracted was far more than its worth? Ben shudders and slowly falls to his knees, his face pressed against my middle. His shoulders begin to shake and dampness seeps through my dress. He weeps without making a sound, other than his hoarse breathing. I comb my fingers through his hair, murmuring nonsense in Mando'a. It seems to console him. I shouldn't have been surprised. It had also soothed Korkie when he was small. He gradually calms himself, then sits back on his heels, swiping his hands over his face. He opens his mouth to begin an apology, but I rest my fingers over his lips. No need. He seems embarrassed by his unseemly display of emotion. The words of the Jedi Code that rule his life come roaring back from the recesses of my memories: _Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._

Kriff the Jedi Code.

His eyes are still swimming with grief and heartache. I blurt the first thing that comes into my head. 'You should have a bath and something to eat.' It was something my mother always said. No matter how big or small your problems, my mother thought they would be more manageable on the other side of a warm bath and a meal. His brows draw together slightly, perplexed, but he nods.

'That would… That sounds… I'd like that.' He pushes himself to his feet and heads toward the 'fresher.

'Use water,' I call after him, knowing his inclination to use the more efficient sonic option, because stars forbid he let himself indulge in something as hedonistic as a shower with water. He lifts a hand in acknowledgement, then disappears into the 'fresher. I wait until I hear the water running, then go into Korkie's room. He's thankfully away at school just now. I'm not sure how I'd explain Ben's presence in the apartment. Korkie would probably be overjoyed to be in the presence of one of his heroes. He admires Anakin Skywalker, but he thinks Ben hung the stars in the galaxy. I'll have to make sure I close the door firmly behind me. There is a rather colorful poster of a stylized version of Ben, lightsaber at his side, pointing at the ground, hung in a place of pride. I open one of the bureau drawers. Korkie has a set of pajamas that ought to fit Ben in there. They're too big for Korkie anyway. I'm still buying clothes for him like he's thirteen and growing nearly four centimeters over his school break.

Ben's clothes will need laundering. After I lay the pajamas on the bed, I retrieve the clothing he left on the stool, then slip into the 'fresher to gather his trousers and undertunic. I can see a distorted outline of him through the wavy glass door of the shower cubicle. He's standing under the spray, face tilted up to it, hands at sides. Meditating no doubt, trying to center himself in the Force. Trying to let go of whatever troubles him. Or trying to assuage his conscience over some decision he had to make in the heat of battle. Once his clothes are in the laundering unit, I inspect the contents of the cooler in the small kitchen. There's always soup. I've lost track of the number of times I've returned to the apartment from some dinner with government officials, starving, because I never got a chance to eat more than a few mouthfuls of each course before some bureaucrat demanded my attention. Fortunately, Ben's not a picky eater. I set some vegetable soup to reheat, and return to my bedroom to change from the formal attire I'd worn for a private dinner with an envoy from Onderon and the prime minister. It's almost a relief to remove the trappings of statecraft and pull a linen nightdress of indeterminate age over my head. I putter around the kitchen, slicing fruit and brewing tarine tea, not forgetting to add a handful of sweet-sand cookies. He'd never let me hear the end of it if I forgot the sweet-sand cookies. By the time Ben emerges from the 'fresher, the table in my room where I customarily eat my solitary meals is set and laden with food. He spots the pajamas on the bed and pulls them on, then joins me on the pile of cushions clustered around the low table in a corner of my bedroom. He doesn't ask why we're eating in here, and not in the kitchen or the formal dining room. He doesn't have to. This is our sanctuary, our refuge from the real world. Even if only for a few hours.

Is it selfish? Probably. But there's something weighing heavily on him, and the Jedi response to any emotional turmoil or trauma is to meditate. Would it kill the Jedi to hire a few therapists? He looks a little less shaky as he folds himself to a cushion and peers into the bowl in front of him, utterly failing to hide the flash of apprehension as he picks up his spoon. 'I didn't cook it,' I tell him, rolling my eyes. Truth be told, I'm a terrible cook. He used to tell me the only person he knew that was a worse cook was Master Yoda. He's clearly famished, though he manages to not bolt his food like a ravenous teenager. He polishes off two bowls of soup before he looks more like himself. We talk of superficial things. Anakin's progress with his Padawan, Ahsoka. Korkie's schoolwork. How he's convinced the Jedi archivist thinks he's an idiot. The school tours where I've shocked everyone by performing one of the traditional Mandalorian dances with the children. It's only after the first cup of tea that Ben is able loosen the binders on his tongue and speak of what ails him.

He refills his cup and gazes at the surface of the steaming liquid. 'This isn't the kind of Jedi I wanted to be.' He takes a sip. 'This isn't the kind of Jedi Qui-gon taught me to be.' He exhales slowly and rubs a hand over his face. 'I never wanted this, to be at the head of an army.'

I push the plate of cookies closer to him. 'What kind of Jedi did you want to be?'

His shoulders hunch slightly, shades of teenaged Ben showing through the cracks of the adult. 'I don't know,' he confessed. 'I thought I would have time to discover that for myself before I took on an apprentice.' He buries his nose into his cup. 'I tried to strictly abide by the rules of the Jedi Code when Qui-gon took me as an apprentice. Mostly because he stretched the boundaries of the Code. So I rebelled against his ways by trying to be the perfect Jedi…'

'With one, tiny, inconsequential lapse,' I add with a self-deprecating grin, holding my thumb and forefinger a mere centimeter apart in illustration.

Ben shoots me a reproachful look. He takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth. 'You were neither inconsequential, nor a lapse, my dear,' he murmurs against the back of my hand. He turns my hand over and brushes his lips delicately over the inside of my wrist, lingering over the steady beat of my pulse.

The ease with which he gives word to his feelings sets me back on my heels. It isn't something that comes naturally to him. He does not release my hand, but cradles it in one of his, while tracing the lines of my palm with a gentle fingertip.

'And then Qui-gon…' His voice breaks for a moment. I'm about as Force-sensitive as the teapot between us, but the ghost of his pain is palpable. More than a decade of meditation has done little to erode the jagged edges of loss. If the Jedi think there are no attachments between Masters and Padawans, they’re fooling themselves. 'I wasn't ready to take on an apprentice. I thought the Council was going to give me to another Master who would see me through my trials, and someone with more experience would train Anakin at first. But hours before Qui-gon's funeral, the Council decreed my duel with a Sith could take the place of my trials and granted me the rank of Jedi Knight. One minute I was a Padawan mourning the loss of my Master, and the next, Master Yoda severed my braid, then plopped Anakin into my lap as my Padawan. I didn't know the first thing about taking care of a child, let alone a child who knew nothing about the ways of the Jedi or the Force.' He gives me a wry, crooked grin. 'I shouldn't complain. You had a baby when you were little more than a child yourself. And you were alone…'. It’s an interesting choice of words. Ben and I were never children. Not really.

'It's not the same situation at all,' I retort, a little more sharply than I'd intended and pull my hand from his. 'You had to care for a nine year old child who had only ever known hardship and want with no notice or time to reconcile yourself to it. If he's as powerful as you claim, I'm sure he could sense what everyone around him was thinking. That he was too old. That he didn't quite belong there.’ He winced. I clearly hit a mark. I refill my cup with tea and dunk a cookie into it. 'I had _months_ to prepare for Korkie. And he was an infant. He had no past or conscious memories. And no one has ever questioned Korkie's right to be with me. Even if I did have to lie about his true origins.’

‘Anakin was terrified of being abandoned,’ Ben said. ‘The first year, I would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, and find him sleeping on the floor next to my bed... And I didn’t know how to teach him to...’ He trails off and runs a fingertip around the rim of his cup.

‘To what...?’

‘To be alone. To understand that life and death are part of the Force.' His hand lands on his chin, fingertips circling through his beard. 'To let go.' He turns his pensive gaze to me. 'Do you remember when we first met and you told me the Jedi way of claiming children when they were mere infants was barbaric?'

'Yes. You were quite offended.'

'What we did to Anakin was…' He looks down, shame radiating from him. 'It was barbaric. We took him from everything he knew. Ripped him away from the one constant in his life, and took him to a world where nothing made sense, and no one was familiar. Except me. And he barely knew me. I had to figure out how to teach him to do things I'd known how to do my entire life because I learned them at such an early age, it came as naturally as breathing. So I doubled down on living the tenets of the Code so I could be an example. Perhaps I should have done what Qui-gon always wanted and observed the spirit of the Code instead. Then Anakin wouldn't have felt like he always disappointed me yet again.' His eyes close and he shakes his head slightly. 'I made so many mistakes that first year.'

'I don't know a parent or parental figure that hasn't made a mistake or two.'

Ben looks at me with abject guilt on his face. 'I didn't want to train Anakin,' he whispers. 'I promised Qui-gon I would do it as he died in my arms.' The words squeeze from his throat. I think it's probably the first time he's ever admitted it to anyone out loud. 'The only reason I was allowed to train him at all was because it was Qui-gon's wish that Anakin become a Jedi, and the Council ultimately agreed that it was better to train someone with that much raw ability than leave him to fate, because talent without training does nobody in the galaxy any good. ' He picks up a cookie and nibbles the edge. 'Qui-gon thought — no, he believed — that Anakin is the Chosen One. And Anakin's initial evaluations convinced the rest of the Council. All save Yoda.'

My brow goes up with frank skepticism before I can school my features into something neutral. 'The Chosen One?'

'The one who will bring balance to the Force.'

'Do you believe it?'

Ben looks uncomfortable and I can see him restrain himself from squirming. 'I am proud of the Jedi he's become,' he begins. I sense a "but" in there. Ben doesn't disappoint. 'But truly, there are times when…' His brow furrows. 'I sense a darkness that threatens to overwhelm him.' He begins to stack the empty dishes on the tray. 'I doubted him in the beginning. And may the Force forgive me, I still do.' He says this in such a low voice that I have to strain to hear him.

He rises and takes the tray into the kitchen. It's rare to see the man underneath the Jedi Master. I can only imagine how much that admission has shaken Ben to his core. I've seen Ben and Anakin's relationship. It's… complicated. It lurches from that of brothers to father and son. The love and affection between them is real, though, despite Ben's professed doubts. Water splashes in the kitchen. I trail after Ben and lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. 'You don't have to do that.' He scrubs the bowls and spoons we used and stacks them on a towel he's spread on the counter.

'It's only fair. You provided the meal.' He shuts off the water and dries his hands, then tidies the detritus of my hasty meal preparation. As if he's lived here for nearly twenty years. It's a brief look at what our life could have been. It's strangely far more intimate than anything we've done in my bed.

'I wanted to ask you to stay,' I say abruptly. I've thought about that since he said as much on the _Coronet_. In quieter moments, I tried to imagine that life. It looked an awful lot like this. With a few more children. It always saddened me that Korkie never had siblings. Not that there wasn't an opportunity or two. But… Ben Kenobi is a hard act to follow.

He keeps his eyes on the towel as he folds it, aligning the edges just so. 'Why didn't you?'

'You know why.' I sweep my fingers in an arc reminiscent of the Jedi mind trick. 'It would never have worked. Mandalore would have revolted, and everything my father worked for would have been lost. I couldn't allow my feelings to become part of the equation.'

Ben drapes the towel over the edge of the sink. 'That's why I never asked.' He yawns widely, just remembering to cover his mouth. 'I suppose I should try to get some sleep.' He gestures to the kitchen door. 'If you could tell me where to find a blanket… Or direct me to Korkie's room, if you think he wouldn't mind if I slept in his bed tonight.'

'Why? Is there something wrong with my bed?'

He folds his hands together in front of him, as though they were covered by the sleeves of his robes, averting his face. 'I didn't wish to presume…'

I hold out my hand in lieu of a reply. There's nothing that says we are required to do anything in my bed other than sleep. Besides, my bed is much more comfortable than the sofa in the sitting room. Korkie's is probably adequate, but that poster of Ben is quite lurid enough to keep anyone awake. He hesitates for the space of a heartbeat before taking it, and allows me to lead him back into my bedroom.

The bed is still large enough for an entire family. To be quite frank, Ben and I could easily share it with Anakin, Ahsoka, and Korkie, and still have plenty of room for Padmé. Ben doffs the pajama top, draping it over the foot of the bed, and slides in with a heartfelt sigh. A glimmer of gold swaying against his chest as he settles into bed catches the light.

It's the locket I gave him when we saw each other last on Coruscant. I climb into bed next to him and tap the locket. 'You're still wearing it.'

His fingers brush over the locket. 'I've considered removing it,' he muses.

'Why?' I find the clasp with the edge of a fingernail and open it. He's added a portrait of me. I recognize the style. He was an inveterate doodler as a sixteen year old. He kept detailed records of that year, often including sketches of the bounty hunters we eluded or the flora and fauna of various planets and moons where we sought refuge. He's drawn me with a remarkable attention to detail. I hope he doesn't feel as if he's in contravention of the Code. As far as possessions go, it’s insignificant. I've seen his quarters in the Temple in our hologram chats. It's bare of all but the essentials. As tangible evidence of an attachment... That's a rather grey area. Ben and I made the choice to let each other go years ago, regardless of our feelings. How very Jedi of us. Either way, the locket belongs to Ben now, whether he chooses to wear it or not.

'It feels like I've defiled it by wearing it into a battle,' he confesses, closing the locket. ‘It...’ He hesitates. ‘It reminds me why I’m fighting, but to carry two committed pacifists into an inherently violent situation...’ He shrugs apologetically, guilt darkening his blue-grey eyes. His involvement in the war troubled him far more than he wanted to admit. It ran counter to everything he'd been taught as a child; that Jedi only fought in to defend and protect others, not initiate an attack. But war doesn't care about such niceties.

I want to tell him that Korkie is more of a pragmatist than I am. That we’ve had “spirited discussions” about the difference between my interpretation of pacifism and his definition of passivity. That I want to send Korkie to Alderaan to learn from Breha and Bail Organa, because he won't have the same luxury of his beliefs that I did. That he hews closer to the Jedi view of things more than I want to admit. Instead, I say, 'It's beskar, you know.'

'Is it?' His brows shoot up in surprise. Ben knows enough Mandalorian history to understand the significance.

I may not wear the armor, but beskar is endemic to the Mandalorian culture. There are some that feel beskar should never leave a Mandalorian family, even in such small amounts as the locket. I could argue that it hasn't. Ben is the father of my child after all. ‘Maybe it will protect you.’ He laughs then. More of a wry chuckle than an outright guffaw. It doesn’t rise to his lips as easily as it used to, and the shadows still remain in his eyes.

He fingers the locket, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘It would have to be a very lucky shot.’

I didn't consider the ramifications of giving it to him when I fastened it around his neck. It was an impulse borne on the dark wings of conflict. But looking at the way his hand closed protectively around the locket, the thought crosses my mind that it might cause trouble with the Jedi Order ‘Could the Council expel you for having it?' I brush my fingertips over the back of his hand.

'For owning what most would consider a trinket? No.'

'For what's inside it.'

His hand convulses around the locket, and he sighs heavily. ‘They might. Jedi aren’t supposed to have families. It usually doesn't end well.'

‘We’re not your family,’ I counter. ‘Not in any way that counts.’ It stings me to say and him to hear it. But it is the unvarnished truth and we’ve never lied to one another. ‘We are merely two people you care about from afar.’ I lay a hand against his cheek, and he leans into the caress. 'We chose this life, Ben,' I remind him. He nods and pulls me down to nestle against him. He's kind enough to not mention I made the decision for us both.

'We might be worrying over nothing.' He turns toward me, sliding one leg between mine. 'We're spread so thin, the Order can't afford to lose anyone. Not even Jedi Masters with a child that isn't technically theirs.' He waves a hand at the lamp in the corner, plunging the room into darkness. 'No point in worrying about something that might never come about.' He laces his fingers though mine. 'But I shall proceed with caution.'

Given how tired Ben looked earlier, I fully expected him to fall asleep immediately. It's been quite a day for me as well. Some of the best nights of sleep I've had were in Ben's arms. Despite his occasional struggles with insomnia, he projected a sense of serenity that set my mind at ease. I rarely had the nightmare of seeing my parents killed in front of me once we started sharing a bed. I am a little surprised when his mouth slants over mine. It isn't the hungry, desperate kisses of our youth, or fervent yearning of our reunion. It's a jumble of need and want, desire and intimacy. The expressions his Jedi sensibilities won’t allow him to say. He gathers the hem of my nightdress in one hand, breaking off the kiss with an inquiring quirk of his brow.

I don't say no. In fact, I help him tug it over my head. It ends up somewhere on the floor. I hook my fingers into the waistband of the pajama bottoms and manage to get them over his hips. His forefinger slashes impatiently through the air and I can feel something grab them and peel them down his legs and over his feet. It's enough to make me want to giggle. So much for his youthful protestations that one doesn't use the Force for frivolous activities.

And then he's inside me and time stops.

We don't make love with the abandon of our teenaged selves. This is a measured dance of give and take. It isn’t about pleasure, although it is pleasurable. It’s the wordless expression of all we cannot and will not allow ourselves to say. A garden of repressed desires and muffled dreams. The touches we crave, but never allow ourselves to have. Our duties have always come first. And they always will.

As usual, dawn arrives, much to my visible displeasure. Dawn isn't something that heralds a beginning. It signals yet another ending. The grey light prods Ben to ease from the bed, albeit with great reluctance. It's time to go. He ducks into the 'fresher for a quick wash while I fetch his clothes and lightsaber and take them back into the bedroom. He pulls on his undershorts and trousers, then holds out a hand for the undertunic. I hold it up for him to slide his arms into the sleeves. I bat his hands away when they start to fasten the ties that hold his closed, the right side crossed over the left and do it myself. I repeat the routine with the overtunic. 'You don't have to do this,' he murmurs with an amused tilt at the corner of his mouth.

'Yes. I do.' He bends his knees slightly so I can lower the tabard over his head. It's not the first time I've helped him dress.

'I've been able to dress myself for well over thirty years, my dear.'

The belt goes on next, the silver clasp glinting in the dull light. 'It reminds me of what — and who — you are.' He opens his mouth and clearly wants to argue the point, that Ben and Obi-wan are one and the same; but in all honesty, he can't. He turns to tug on his boots, then reaches for the robe. I pick up the length of brown wool and help his settle it over his shoulders. It billows and ripples as he adjusts the sleeves. I reach back and lift the hood, shrouding his face in its shadow. 'It reminds me that you are Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, and Ben is a whimsical dream.' It means I can bid him farewell with no regrets. And he can do the same.

He attaches his lightsaber to his belt with a soft _click_ , and then takes a step back. Obi-wan's hands disappear inside the folds of his sleeves and he bows deeply. 'My lady…'

My head inclines a little. 'Master Kenobi.'

He straightens, then lifts a hand to my face, fingertips resting gently against my cheek. I turn my head to press a kiss to his callused palm. ' _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ ,' he murmurs with a wistful smile, then turns with a swirl of cream linen and brown wool and leaves, with only the faint _swoosh_ of the service entrance to indicate he's gone.

The sun just peeps over horizon when the distant shape of a T-6 shuttle rises from the landing platform and soars toward the top of the dome over Sundari. ' _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_.'

**Author's Note:**

> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum: I love you
> 
> I used https://lingojam.com/Mandoa-EnglishTranslator to find that. 
> 
> It's my HC that Satine taught Obi-wan Mando'a to pass the time while they were hiding as teenagers with Qui-gon.
> 
> Some of Obi-wan's feelings and memories about Anakin as a child come from the story "There is Always Another" by Mackenzi Lee from the anthology From a Certain Point of View: The Empire Strikes Back


End file.
